


Sherlock Ruins Christmas

by EntreNous



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Arguing, Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash, Presents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 03:23:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EntreNous/pseuds/EntreNous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Your present suppositions as to the nature of your gift are undoubtedly specious.  Also, the chances of you deducing the contents by that rattling method are slim to none."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock Ruins Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to wesleysgirl, who prompted me with "John/Sherlock with at least one of them enjoying some holiday cheer (in the form of alcohol?)" thus enabling me to make my first foray into writing _Sherlock_ fic. Mostly gen, but with some unresolved sexual tension/pre-slash implied. Unbetaed.

John had only raised the pint to his lips for the fourth time when he felt a firm hand resting on his good shoulder.

"Piss off," he said without looking round.

"John." Sherlock's low voice stood out clearly from the surrounding chatter of the pub. "You're being ridiculous."

"Go. Away," John said, aware he sounded less commanding and more plaintive.

"This is tedious. Come home at once."

John's shoulder ached as he hunched forward. Not a moment passed before he positioned his free arm to grip the side of the table and spread his feet for ballast to make obvious how unlikely he was to move at Sherlock's command.

With a put-upon sigh, Sherlock took the seat opposite, eyes narrowed as he glared at John. "You're like a child," he pronounced at last, staring pointedly at John's stubborn posture.

"I'm like a -- _I'm_ the child! You've some nerve -- do you know how many normal Christmases I've had in my life?"

The startled look lasted but a moment before Sherlock leaned forward, his hands clasped together, a slight nod communicating his acceptance of the challenge. "Early celebrations of the occasion most likely unhappy given a childhood marked by strained familial relationships; later, forced to decline the earnest invites of uni friends, to honor maternal pleading to spend uncomfortable holidays at home. Youthful disappointments carried over into early adulthood: multiple Christmases compromised by the pressures of medical training and later, situation in war-torn areas. Once finally returned to your native land, psychological and physical trauma made re-establishing old friendships difficult at best, severely limiting chances to fulfill any idealized December festivities you imagined in your juvenile period. Add to which, a marked tendency for brief, ultimately unsuccessful romantic dalliances subverted the possibility of establishing new traditions of enjoying commonly-celebrated events with an intimate partner -- very few, if any, obviously."

John gritted his teeth, refusing to acknowledge how remarkably accurate the assessment had been. "Just this once, when things are more or less all right, I thought I could invite friends for a normal celebration, for a bit of holiday cheer -- _our_ friends, mind you -- "

"Your assessment of my esteem for others is, of course, entirely inaccurate --"

" -- and I'd barely finished filling everyone's wineglasses the second time before you made Molly cry! You got Lestrade riled -- Mrs. Hudson was ready to slap you --"

"Untrue. She didn't lay a hand on me."

"She wanted to, is the point! And then, as if ruining the stupid little party I'd planned wasn't enough for you, you actually managed to set the sitting room afire --"

"Your ability to overstate situations for dramatic purposes continues, I see. Only one section of the room suffered damages."

"Oh, for Christ's sake, let us be accurate above all else."

Sherlock watched him intently, as if John was another of his experiments that might become intriguingly combustible at any second.

"Wrecked the party," John ticked off on one finger. "Exploded the sofa in a roaring blaze," he added to the tally. "For God's sake, Sherlock, you burned the presents!"

"I should think the last part and parcel of the second item, given the sofa's undeniable proximity to the tree --"

"Ruined Christmas," John nearly shouted, four fingers now extended.

"Oi, keep it down," someone yelled.

"Oh, for god's sake, shut up, you utter moron!" Sherlock snapped at the bystander.

Arguing with inebriated patrons turned to scuffling turned to John and Sherlock being rousted out of their local. Moments later John jammed his icy hands in his jacket pockets and took off at a rapid pace on the pavement outside.

"Are you trying to storm off?" Sherlock asked, easily falling into step beside him.

"I was, but it seems you're bound and determined to ruin that too." John stopped, left hand pressed to his throbbing brow and covering his eyes. "Look, Sherlock, just leave me alone for a while." He waited for a few moments before throwing his hands in the air. "Alone means you're not here with me!"

"Here."

John looked down at the compact thrust-out box clenched in Sherlock's hand. "You're not seriously going to attempt to buy me off with a present you bought at the last minute. What, is it from Tesco's?"

"I didn't buy it at all," Sherlock said. He looked puzzled as he tried to shove the plain unwrapped box at John. "You like presents. Take it."

"Give it here," John muttered. "Not that this makes up for anything, you understand. Probably something someone else gave you that you hated, and now you're fobbing off on me." He gave it a slight shake. The slight thud of the contents in the smallish box, the size of the container, reminded him of a necklace he'd once given a girlfriend at Christmas when he was much younger. When he jerked his head up, Sherlock was watching him shrewdly.

"Your present suppositions as to the nature of your gift are undoubtedly specious. Also, the chances of you deducing the contents by that rattling method are slim to none."

John scowled and removed the top. The visible fog of his sudden exhalation in the frigid air surrounded the object momentarily before dissipating.

"Where the hell did you --" He drew out the ornament carefully, holding it in front of him, between them. "Sherlock, I made this when I was seven. I've not seen it for years, and -- how on earth did you get it? I thought my mum had binned all the things we'd made when we were kids long ago." The sellotape holding the ice lolly sticks together in a lopsided outline of a star had yellowed; much of the glitter had flaked off, leaving mainly dried gobs of glue where once silvery powder had adorned the sticks.

"Look," John said reverently. As he held it, the few patches of glitter caught the hazy evening light. "It's a mess, isn't it?" He looked up, grinning. "I remember making this at school. My mum got the tightest look on her face when I gave it to her. It didn't go at all with the tacky gold theme she trotted out every year, obviously. In fact, I think she hung it near the back of the tree, but I sneaked it round to the front when she wasn't looking. And here," he said, gesturing, "You can still see where Harry snapped it in half two Christmases later when she was in a strop, and I taped it back together."

"Ah. Good. I worried you'd thought it a great work of art, or --" Sherlock huffed a surprised exhalation as John embraced him. "At least, I knew you held ridiculous sentiment for the holiday, despite your continued disappointment in its realities. It seemed...appropriate, to give you something from the period of time when you felt you might still experience the idealized version you imagined."

"That's -- yeah," John said. His voice was muffled against Sherlock's shoulder. "Thank you," he said, his voice choked as he drew back. "Best Christmas yet."

Sherlock searched John's features, his expression intense. Finally his face relaxed slightly, and the corners of his mouth turned up in a small guarded smile.

 

 

***~* the end *~***  



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